


Small Steps

by crossroadrain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha John, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, BAMF John, Forced Prostitution, Hurt/Comfort, Kink Meme, M/M, Omega Sherlock, Omega Verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-20
Updated: 2014-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-05 12:15:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 16
Words: 16,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1818121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crossroadrain/pseuds/crossroadrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I saw this prompt shared on a blog yesterday and it just stuck in my head.<br/>Also, I changed the original idea a little but this is how it came to me.</p><p>From the kink meme:</p><p>"It's John's birthday and all his army buddies have got him a prostitute for a laugh.</p><p>They go back to somebodies house after a night out drinking, where Sherlock has been told to wait for them, and start having a bit of fun with him.</p><p>His mates start getting a bit rowdy, getting Sherlock to do whatever they ask. Some of them can't believe they've actually got a prostitute in their living room, and start pushing him to do things like kissing everyone, letting them have a grope and then giving John a strip tease etc.</p><p>All the lads are whooping and cheering. All except for John.</p><p>All John can see is a scared young man who can't meet anybodies eye and is fearful that ALL the men in the room are going to want to have sex with him.</p><p>When John takes Sherlock to his bedroom all he wants to do is talk.</p><p>Over time, they continue to meet and eventually become lovers. John helps him give up drugs and helps him to discover his true calling as a detective."</p></blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I saw this prompt shared on a blog yesterday and it just stuck in my head.  
> Also, I changed the original idea a little but this is how it came to me.
> 
> From the kink meme:
> 
> "It's John's birthday and all his army buddies have got him a prostitute for a laugh.
> 
> They go back to somebodies house after a night out drinking, where Sherlock has been told to wait for them, and start having a bit of fun with him.
> 
> His mates start getting a bit rowdy, getting Sherlock to do whatever they ask. Some of them can't believe they've actually got a prostitute in their living room, and start pushing him to do things like kissing everyone, letting them have a grope and then giving John a strip tease etc.
> 
> All the lads are whooping and cheering. All except for John.
> 
> All John can see is a scared young man who can't meet anybodies eye and is fearful that ALL the men in the room are going to want to have sex with him.
> 
> When John takes Sherlock to his bedroom all he wants to do is talk.
> 
> Over time, they continue to meet and eventually become lovers. John helps him give up drugs and helps him to discover his true calling as a detective."

John knew something wasn’t right the moment they sat into the pub to celebrate. It was _his_ day today – or his army buddies said it was as he was out of the hospital for quite some time now, had a good, tolerably boring job and a medal he received on a ceremony earlier the week. He didn’t have a wife or a bond mate yet, the thought of a soul mate didn’t even cross his mind anymore, but all the essentials were there and the missing partner wasn’t an aspect over which John tent to go overly dramatic.

He didn’t have a girlfriend either and the boys chaffed him, but all the sniggering and the secret looks pretty much gave him the solid, painful idea that by the end of the night they were going to try and set him up with at least a dozen of women. So he braced himself for the humiliation, hoped not to get brushed off too rudely (as it was these days) and drank a little bit too much beer. After all, not many women – Betas and especially Omegas – fought over a limping mess of an ex-army doctor with trembling hand and a bloody ugly scar decorating his chest like a gruesome medal.

“We spend years getting shot at, Johnny!” someone screamed at his ear and John winced, panic surging through him at the sudden, unexpected sound. “Let’s celebrate now!” His drunken mind did hardly any work now, he just swayed a little in his seat and screamed with the others when there was some action in the game they watched.

They drank most of the night, getting seriously pissed and by the time the football game was over and the pub started to empty. The group dragged him out, sniggering like teenagers and John tried to be more drunk but the only thing he managed was faking it and so he did. It was around midnight when Smith nodded in random direction, saying smugly that they had a surprise for him back home.

John didn’t exactly had time to protest. A taxi ride and they were at his house, having sneaked his key out of his pocket when he was finally pissed enough not to notice. Few bottles dangled in their hands, some whiskey staining John’s jeans and the keys chirped soundly in the quiet night.

“You are gonna love this, Jonny!” Smith said to him as he opened the door and turned on the lights to reveal a small figure in the middle of the front room. The room smelled faintly of tobacco and something spicy and musky. John belatedly realized what it was. The room smelled of Omega.

The others walked in before him, setting the whiskey on the counter in the kitchen and Nigel Travis seemed to talk with the man present in John’s house, with his broad army hand on the Omega’s hip. It wasn’t as John didn’t have suspicions as to what grand idiocy this could be, he just refused to give in to his suspicions and swayed happily his drunken haze of a mind, drinking more whiskey and trying not to do two very things. Firstly, to notice how annoyingly idiotic Nigel’s attitude was and secondly, not to rip his trout out for touching the man.

It wasn’t the smell for John. It was the Omega himself. He just stood out the moment John laid eyes on him and he couldn’t turn away.

“Look at this, boys, this pretty thing here is an Omega” Travis howled, taking the man down on his knees. “I haven’t fucked an Omega before.”

“Of course you haven’t, you fuck. You are a filthy Beta. Bitches like him want to gag on big Alpha cocks. They _need_ it.” Smith laughed and reached down; kissing the Omega and tracing a path of kiss and bites over his face. “John must know. The rest of you are too fucked up by nature to get to know how gloriously fucked can an Omega be.”

“Yeah, Johnny, have you shared a heat before? Mmm,” Nigel purred happily and poured himself a generous glass of whiskey. “I’ve always wanted to try it.”

John didn’t answer – he hadn’t shared a whole heat before; for him it was far more intimate and special that sex so he choose not to share it with anyone but his potential, hypothetical bond mate. Which’s existence he highly doubted before he laid eyes on Sherlock; the bloody gorgeous Omega, laid on the floor in his house, scared so much that John could’ve smelled it on him.

It was ridiculous really – forming an attraction, especially to a prostituting Omega but John was immediately drawn and the more his army friends touched Sherlock, the loser his anger got and John suspected that till the end of the night the need to shelter Sherlock would’ve taken over his friendly, brotherly feelings to the pigs currently exchanging the poor creature, kissing him filthily on the mouth as if he was theirs to take.

“This” Travis stepped in the centre of the room with the unfamiliar man beside him. “is… what did you say your name was? Sher? Cher? Something funny!” he clapped him on the back and the man made a tentative, unsure step forwards, murmuring a quiet “Sherlock” between some fine, plush lips and the room swayed around John.

“Yeah, sure, sure.” Travis slapped him again, his hand travelling the thin shoulders and climbing in the man unruly dark curls as he sniggered. “This is Sherlock, but I think I’ll call him sexy” he bit his lip, holding back another snigger and pulled Sherlock’s head back by the hair. “This is for you, Johnny-boy! For all the shit you did for us out there on the field!”

And John would’ve been very, very angry if it weren’t for the set of celestial eyes that were revealed once Sherlock’s head was pushed up. He locked his eyes with John’s and the ex-soldier’s throat got shut tight. Those eyes bored into him and made him shiver just looking at him.

“He is an escort, Johnny, and an expensive one, so I suggest we make a good use of him tonight, yeah, mate?” it was someone’s very familiar voice but John was way to inebriated and fascinated by the creature in his living room to care who’s. John was right though, he was a prostitute and John wasn’t one for those kinds of pleasure.

Someone pushed a glass in his hand and put some music on and when John came to himself again, Travis and Smith had got the escort between the two of them and someone was laughing hard. He tried not to stare, he told himself that they paid him and he came willingly, knowing full well how people react to Omegas, especially in such a predisposed position.

But he can’t tear his eyes off and then Sherlock moves and their eyes meet briefly and it is pure panic and horror written all over the Omega’s face.


	2. Chapter 2

Geoff’s big, clammy hands captured Sherlock’s head. His short thick fingers covered the milky white cheekbones and half of his eyelids. The grab made the man squirm on the floor, searching for purchase. He was tall enough that even on his knees, he was still impressively big in Geoff’s feet. _Big_ , though John, _but just so_. He was too thin, too precious and breakable to be left in the hands of angry army men. John knew them well enough and suspected greatly where things were going by the hungry determination in the eyes of the Betas. This was a rare chance for them: having an Omega at their disposal. Their minds foggy and sick, craving the pleasures an Omega can propose to their bodies.

Nigel was on his knees now and he was groping Sherlock, his hands smaller that Geoff’s but as intruding. He kissed the man and Sherlock whimpered, pain showing on his face and Nigel pulled back, Sherlock’s lower lip bloody and red after him biting down hard on it. The Omega didn’t dare look anyone in the eyes, or face; his discolored eyes roamed the floor and looked everywhere, just not in the eyes of his abusers/clients – John was sure this wasn’t new for Sherlock but the pain didn’t seem like something he could’ve got over too. His head hanged between his shoulders, navigated roughly by Geoff’s hands as Nigel kissed his neck hungrily.

Then Geoff presented Sherlock mouth to Nigel again and the man leaned closer, kissing him filthy and slow, never minding the powerless kicks that Sherlock pointlessly delivered under Nigel massive, muscular body. He came back from the war just a month ago and his muscles were quite strong and present still, even if John’s figure have started to change the longer he lived his boring live as a civilian.

Geoff let Sherlock’s head go and pulled him up and against himself. Nigel stood on his knees admiring the long lean body. Smith came along with a bottle of whiskey and Sherlock was blissfully forgotten for a minute while glasses clinked and filthy ideas were exchanged.

“Come on now, beautiful. You are not here just to enjoy our company, don’t be greedy” Geoff said in Sherlock’s ear. “We _all_ know what a whore an Omega can be… don’t you dare disappoint us, sexy.” His hand roamed the man’s arse and gripped him tight. Geoff’s hips bucked a little and he pushed Sherlock to the wall, shaking and fucking himself on the escort’s hip.

Sherlock didn’t react. He just stood there, hands and back to the wall, his head thudding loudly on his own volition. If John didn’t know better, he would’ve suggested that Sherlock was trying to ignore the nasty form of Geoff’s body by inflicting stronger pain on his occipital lobe.

Sherlock looked miserable and it looked more like a rape than a party anyway and John couldn’t ever stand something like it. “Let him go, Geoff,” Captain Watson voice was used and the soldier obliged minutely. They were all looking at him now and John felt the pressure over his shoulders. Even Sherlock was looking at him from under his dark black lashes, face full of astonishment and curiosity. “Don’t push him, yeah? If he doesn’t want it, don’t make him do it. You pay a fee, you are not buying him.”

And they all laughed – loud and distracting and John used the moment to drag Sherlock to himself, hiding the lean body with his broader, bigger frame. “I am serious!” he hushed, Captain Voice present again.

“Fuck, Johnny, I didn’t know you played on both sides, mate!” someone laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “If you wanted the whore on an Omega for yourself, you just should’ve told us – he is bought _for_ you after all, mate!”

“Don’t worry – he can take more than one, Johnny…” Geoff stood closest of them all and John seized him with a cold stare. “I’ve heard as much – never tried him myself!” He laughed, holding both hands up, taking John’s determination to save the Omega for interest or curiosity.

Smith pushed pass John – as the only other Alpha he was the only one, who dared oppose John’s word. “Come here, kitten. Come on!” he purred, wrapping his arms around Sherlock’s thin body. The Omega sagged, his apparent hope for security failing him as Smith dragged him away and John didn’t step after him, fearful not to lose his nerve. He breathed but before he could muster the level of steadiness to call after Smith, Nigel navigated him back to his previous seat.

The doctor gritted his teeth, getting ready to fight if it called for that. He wasn’t letting his friends – his brothers – take advantage of an unwilling victim just because the idiotic morons drank too much. He was aware that it was much more that alcohol – it was inner desire, inner need to torture and fight and feel bigger that the Omega. It was psychological and it depended on the man and those men wanted to see Sherlock hurt.

John was never going to let them live another day if they dared hurt the preciousness that the man was.

They pushed Sherlock in front John’s chair and in the doctor’s lap. The man awkwardly fit himself, straddling John and holding onto the back of the seat. He was looming over him even now and John would’ve smiled if Geoff wasn’t screeching and cat calling in his ear.

“Surely you know how to teas, hm?” Smith gripped Sherlock’s arse and pushed him onto John, flushing them chest to chest, so close their heads collided and John huffed, mumbling excuses. The doctor’s first reaction was to reach for him but he held his position, fingers pushed hard against the arm-rests. “Strip, sexy, come on…” Smith undid Sherlock’s shirt for him, opening the tight fitting garment to reveal an endless chest of beautiful, kissable, perfectly lovable milk skin. “Three continents Watson here, yeah – he’ll probably fuck you first, I bet you’d like it, uh? You little whore.” He nuzzled his neck and bit him hard. He searched and roamed Sherlock and when he finally came along his bond – still non-bitten – he screeched and screamed at the back of the Omegas head.

He pushed his hand in Sherlock’s hair and pulled him back, throwing him on the floor. He didn’t try to kick or hit him, too nervous of John’s reaction, the doctor notices as Smith’s eyes weren’t on Sherlock on the floor – oh, they got there but not before checking for John’s reaction the only other Alpha in the room. Some Alphas were abusive and dominant. Other Alphas were protective. He just stood there, watching as Sherlock tried to gather himself, barely standing on all fours just to get his face of the ground.

Smith turned frantically, nervous and gleeful with his doing but froze in place. John’s stone glare pinned him on the spot. “What the hell was that, Smithy?!” Geoff murmured, noticeably nervous about John’s reaction too.

Then Smith answered and they were talking – having a row by the sound of it. John wasn’t really listening. He got on the floor and came closer to Sherlock.

“Let me take you somewhere safe” he said. “Please. Let me take care of you.”

Sherlock looked up. His gorgeous face was pale and scared, his celestial eyes blown wide under his lashes. John had some trouble gulping but managed to get himself under wraps.

Sherlock was looking at him and John felt nervous. “You are so beautiful,” he said not meaning to. And Sherlock breathed.


	3. Chapter 3

He breathed again upstairs, sat on the edge of John’s bed, watching as the doctor locked the door, pulled the curtains over the half-lidded window and turned briskly away, rummaging through his closet to find something more suitable than Sherlock’s partly ripped shirt and elegant but tight trousers.

The bottoms that John managed to produce were too short and the shirt too big for Sherlock but he re-dressed himself obediently and sat himself on the bed, waiting.

The doctor stood by the end of the mattress, feeling awkward in the deafening silence. “I just want to talk to you” John said quietly by way of explaining why was Sherlock locked in his _bed_ room and dressed in his (alpha-scented) clothes.

He sat on the floor next to Sherlock and nudged his legs against the Omegas, protectively covering the other’s long limbs with his own, admittedly shorter ones. “Did they harm you?”

Sherlock acted as he hadn’t heard him. He looked around the room, wrinkled his nose and the, “Afghanistan or Iraq?” was all he said, stunning John into silence.

“Pardon me?” the doctor tried. He blinked a few times. Sherlock breathed an annoyed breath before the clarified.

“Where did you serve? Where did you get shot, Afghanistan or Iraq?”

“How do you…”

“I’ve been observing you all night. All you _friends_ are army men – their stance, their speaking, some of them have been in civilian life for too long now and they don’t look that much different but having them all being army, kind a gives you away. It’s not that though, that’s too easy, too obvious. There is you – army haircut, tan lines not above the wrist, the way you are holding yourself. You look the part and you act the part. Then, there is your bedroom. Medical supply on your night stand – you are in pain, you take painkillers. You are using the right night stand and as you are left handed that is a problem for you; hence your night stand is an absolute mess. You have a limp but you don’t ask for a chair when you stand up – it’s psychosomatic then. You weren’t shot in the leg. Change of night stand sides – problems with your arm and/or shoulder. Calculating poses and how you favor you left shoulder, I’d say, you were shot at the left shoulder while on mission in the war. Problem is there are two wars just of now and I have no way of knowing which one were you in.” He looked around and then clinked his tongue. “Make that a ‘had no way’. Pictures are on your desk. So, Afghanistan. Excuse me for asking, it’s fairly idiotic how I always miss something like that, something of great importance.”

John breathed out all his amazement and smiled a little, “That was fantastic!” he said and sounded embarrassingly enthusiastic. “That… that was the most amazing thing I have ever heard!”

The man seemed startled, “There is no need to be so ironic” he mumbled, trying to find a way to hide his face. Problem was their pose didn’t give him many options and he had to accept the inevitable and meet John’s – fairly shocked – eyes.

“I am not ironic! That _was_ brilliant!” He moved and kneeled, forgetting what was he doing while he nudged Sherlock’s legs open and positioned himself between his now spread, inviting hips. “Tell me more.”

“No.” Sherlock sounded pretty final about it but John shook his head.

“Please. Just… what if I tell you something – a secret, and then you can…”

“No. No. No. This isn’t right!”

“Why?”

“It is not how you are supposed to react! It’s not how people usually react.”

John frowned, “How am I supposed to react?”

“Well, I don’t know – tell me to piss off, punch me, remind me who has the power between the two of us.”

“That is idiotic.” John licked his lips and continued calmly, tried to sound reassuring, “I want to take care of you, okay? You are safe here. Safe with me.”

“No!” Sherlock pulled back, dragging himself backwards until he was out of reach from John. “You are an Alpha, I am not that stupid, I know what goes around you head every time you as much as see an Omega, especially if it is like me, an Omega offering themselves for you to take them! I am not like that, you _can’t touch me_!”

“Hey, hey!” John put his hands up, crawling back and away from the bed to insure Sherlock that he had no intentions whatsoever in taking advantage of him. Not tonight and not ever. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to. No, just the sight of the man, sprawled on his bed like that, made his mouth water but it wasn’t right. Not if the Omega didn’t want him. There was nothing pleasing about that.

And Sherlock didn’t want him. John understood him well enough, especially after Sherlock showed him, and quite impressively, that he knew much more about how broken and useless John was than the ex-soldier was willing to reveal.

“Calm down, okay?” John tried again. “I swear I won’t lay a finger on you and I’ll try my best to protect you from the men downstairs. You just need to promise me that you won’t try anything stupid. I can’t protect you if you don’t cooperate, even a little.”

“Why?” the Omega came closer the edge of the bed again and with a minute movement coaxed John closer as well. “Why would you want to protect me? You don’t know me.”

“Well, yes, that is a fair point but mine is pretty bullet-proof too. First, I dislike uncalled for violence.”

“I am an Omega and I am an escort, that’s what you paid for…”

“I paid… those fucking bastards!” he cursed and licking his lips remembered to cash out at least two wallets before the boys got home.

“… and that is what you get. It is not particularly unheard of that Omegas in the business get harmed a lot. And I mean _a lot_.”

“Then why are you in it?!” John growled load and fast and regretted in immediately. Sherlock stiffened, his eyes cold and his mouth a thin, almost invisible line. The sharp cheekbones looked even sharper when his gaze was so cold and stern.

“I don’t want to talk about it” he said finally, surprising John with even opening his mouth. “And it’s none of your business.”

Feeling cold and helpless, the doctor nodded silently. He didn’t want to intrude but Sherlock was perfect – he was beautiful and astonishingly smart and every, _every_ , Aplha John had ever met would’ve loved having him.

Admittedly, some only because of his extraordinary beauty, because of the use one could make of such a filthy, gorgeous mouth and arse and John slapped himself mentally, trying hard to calm his Alpha mind.

His fingers ached to touch and his mouth wept to kiss but Sherlock didn’t belong to him and it wasn’t his duty to sooth and take care of him as much as John needed it be.

“Whatever you are, you are not a sex toy. You are a live being and you didn’t like what was happening to you. I hate seeing innocent creatures being tortured, Sherlock. And you are innocent and you are just so beautiful, it’s so wrong for you to be a part of something like this.”

“Yes, well I am.”

John took a deep breath. “You are too brilliant, too smart, and too amazingly rare to be here like that. You don’t belong in this.”

“I don’t belong anywhere.” Sherlock tossed his head in apparent gesture of anger and annoyance and his unruly curls danced a little before settling over his head. “Get over it.” He huffed and turned a little on bed. He was restless like a caged animal. John breathed in hard. Fighting the guilty feeling for trapping him in a confined space of his bedroom, he tried not to grab and hold him tight enough to break bone.

“I don’t want to. I…”

No one had bothered them till now and then suddenly someone knocked on the door, breathing heavily on the other side of it. And John heard giggles. He huffed an annoyed breath and rolled his eyes. He was just getting somewhere with Sherlock and didn’t want to lose the tempo of their exchanges. _Then again_ , he thought and tried to be muster all of his Captain Watson self in means to handle his soldiers. Maybe in was for the best that he left Sherlock on his own for a minute.

“I’m sorry. I’ll go and deal with them, you wait here, okay?” Sherlock didn’t answer but he also didn’t move and John thought that enough of a good sign. He got on his feet, extended a careful hand to caress Sherlock’s hair a bit and got for the door.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to take on a different side of the verse, I hope you like it and enjoy reading.
> 
> Also, it may need a little bit more than 5 chapters.

Geoff was waiting outside the door, drunk and happy with himself. “Smith and Matthew hooked up, y’know. And _I_ thought Matthew passed out the moment we stepped ‘n the house! The sneaky bastard!” His hand hung around John’s shoulders, he led him downstairs. “The whiskey is over too. I think I drank it but I can’t remember.”

“Yeah, I see why,” John tried not to stay too close. Geoff smelled like hell and he was swooning from side to side. He looked quite unnerving getting down the stairs.

“You can’t talk… got that whore all for yourself up there, hm?” Geoff swung at the railing’s end and almost fell over. “You fuck ‘im good, yea?”

John gritted his teeth. He led Geoff in the sitting room, taking in the room at first glance. “Hey, where’s Nigel? Did he pass out somewhe…” There was a loud trash upstairs and a growl coming from the bedroom. Geoff toppled over the couch, laughing his gut out.

John didn’t have the time for him now. He ran back upstairs, storming in the bedroom, taking the door with his shoulder and ready for a quality Alpha fight. He had already smelled Nigel, his minted scent mingling with Sherlock’s spicy, exquisite fragrance.

Nigel was standing by the bed, Sherlock’s hair in his hand and his neck at the Beta’s disposal. He was holding a one-time usable syringe, giving him an injection of something blurry white.

“John?” Nigel looked up, smiling broadly. “Just a second, Johnny…” He took the syringe out and threw Sherlock on the bed. He fell face down, absolutely numb. John belatedly realized he was unconscious. “Preterhoxin[1].” The Beta held the syringe. “You’d love it, just give it some time.”

“Why?!” John rasped, angry out of his skin. Nigel didn’t pay much attention.

“The little whore bit me!” he said, irritation filling his voice.

John was going to clarify. He really was. Problem was that Nigel stepped over the line, multiple times actually, but it was that one last thing he said and the small glance John threw in Sherlock’s direction – seeing him helpless and sprawled on the bed, as a tool to be used.

The doctor moved fast, grabbing Nigel by the lapels. “Why did you inject him?”

“Oh, that! You’ll see. It’s a surprise. You better take him down when you are done though, Smith wanted to watch while we take care of him. You know Smithy, the bastard; I suspected he liked watching from back in the day, yeah!”

He didn’t say anything more tonight. John dragged him out of the room, throwing him down the stairs. He startled all the men in the sitting room, stumping there, angry and pumped up, and ready to take them all at once. No one really tried to challenge or provoke him. They gathered themselves quickly and left through the front door, helpfully held open by John.

“Pray I don’t find you around the house again tonight!” he said as they stood on the porch, looking lost and bluntly pushed back to sobriety. “Go home!” he barked, Captain Watson present at all times and they all but marched down the porch and to the main road.

Going back in the house he locked every door and every window, covering them with curtains. He took some food and water back to the bedroom, and closed the window there as well, cursing himself for leaving it even a tad open when Sherlock was by himself.

He maneuvered Sherlock on the bed, laying him gently on the left half on the bed. He put the water and the food on the night stand and took out his laptop. He opened the browser and a search engine then typed “Preterhoxin. Effect on Omegas” and waited for the results to load.

The only thing he knew about the pill was that it was a kind on painkiller for Betas, and you needed a prescription for a dosage. So he tried a few sites, a couple of online pharmacies and registered on a Beta’s forum board to ask some questions regarding the pills. When Sherlock first started to stir, John almost didn’t notice him, engrossed in reading Preterhoxin’s side effects when applied to an Omega.

“What happened?”

John turned his head and put the laptop away fast. “I went outside and Nigel broke in the room. He drugged you in hopes to get you into heat.” It was the efficient way to get it over it.

“Oh.”

“I kicked them out. It’s just you and me now.”

Sherlock moved, lying on his back slowly. One of his hands covered his eyes no matter that there was no light in the room, not for the faint moonlight, squeezing through the gaps in the curtains.

“Are you alright?” John asked nervously. He didn’t read anything good on these sites. “It says that Preterhoxin doesn’t actually work in taking an Omega into heat.”

“No, it doesn’t” Sherlock agreed quietly.

“Are you familiar with it?”

The man whimpered, cringing visibly and then rasped, “Yes, I am.” He turned on his side, shaking slightly. He hung himself, shrinking his whole lean, long body into a ball, shivering ball with chalk white skin and blood shot eyes.

“Sherlock?” John leaned over him, trying to access his face. “Sherlock, are you feeling alright?”

The man twisted and bit his lip in tries not to cry out loud. He trashed on the bed and turned over, again and again, and John wanted nothing more that to have the courage to reach for him and fight him through the seizure, holding him tight against his chest.

“Sherlock, please.”

The man breathed hard, taking fast, small breathes every few seconds. It took a moment but he managed to take his body under control again. “What is it?” asked John and laid both his hands on Sherlock’s shoulder. He didn’t flinch, for all it was he almost scooted closer, trying hard not to scream.

“What is it? I can smell you – you aren’t going into heat. Tell me, what is it?”

“Haven’t you read already?”

“No, I…” John stopped himself. He had read it, of course he had, it hadn’t sunk into his head, what all the warnings meant. ‘The symptoms imitate those to Omega going into heat […] the drug experimentally used for bringing Omegas into heat in the 70s […] not recommended for Omegas […] can cause strong, heat-lie pain […] abdomen spasm, muscle damage’. John cursed himself.

Omega in Heat could experience excruciating pain, especially without an Alpha present to take care of them. And Sherlock was in pain, and John was an Alpha in presence, but because Sherlock was not only _not_ going into heat, but also strongly refusing John’s body, the doctor had no idea what he was meant to do with him.

He had no way of knowing the state of his body in some more intimate zones but Sherlock’s eyes weren’t blown, his breathe ragged but definitely not in wild sexual desire. He was in pain; Heat induced pain that had nothing to do with good, satisfying sex.

“What do I do?” John asked finally. “Do you want me to call somebody? Or… I don’t know, to give you something, painkillers might help as it isn’t a proper heat.”

Sherlock shook his head ‘no’. He shuddered, the cramps in his abdomen unbearably painful and John winced, hurriedly closing the gap between them and taking Sherlock into a warm and strong embrace. “Please,” he squeaked, hiding his face into Sherlock’s hair. “Tell me what to do to make it stop.”

“I don’t know,” Sherlock answered blurrily. His face pressed hard against John’s neck, inhaling his scent and his plaint, tender body, slung over the Alpha. “I’ve only been punished by it, no one cares how to make it stop where I come from” he said, chuckling darkly as a spasm brutally cut him off. “It will wear off. No more than 12 to 15 hours.”

He shuddered again and John’s heart missed a beat. “Can you… it will kill you.”

“It hadn’t before.” 

[1] Fictional brand for medicine


	5. Chapter 5

By dawn Sherlock’s pain came down a bit and he managed to fit his long body in John’s lap. The long thin legs curled protectively around John, his hands circling his ribcage and his face pressed against the Alpha’s neck.

He looked young and vulnerable like that, perfectly snuggled in John’s eager hands. Although Sherlock choose to touch him on his own volition, John couldn’t help but feel like he was taking advantage, using Sherlock’s pain to coax him closer.

Either way, he didn’t have much time for moral dilemmas as Sherlock’s spasms continued through the night and he managed to sleep only after John gave him a small, but useful dosage of painkillers, having in mind that a bigger dose could mix dangerously with the Preterhoxin and end in poisoning.

Through the night, Sherlock occasionally moaned and buckled. John’s hand on his stomach caressed him gently, trying to keep him warm. The feeling of protection lulled Sherlock to sleep earlier, with him murmuring for John to keep close and hold him. After all, he was a man before he was an Omega, John reminded himself. And every man and every woman needed protection. So he was here, he murmured as much in Sherlock’s ear and kissed his neck, and his hair, and his ears, every time he moved to whisper to the man.

Now the spasms returned for a first time in about half an hour, John felt sick. He could feel Sherlock’s insides trembling and the muscles cramping. Sherlock whimpered, both his hands buried in John’s shirt, grabbing hard and desperate.

“It’s okay,” John whispered to his ear and smiled a little at Sherlock’s annoyed hum. “Do you want something?”

John waited but Sherlock only hummed quietly into his neck. “What is the second one?” he asked, sleepily.

John frowned a little but before he could ask, Sherlock clarified, “You said that you helped me because firstly, you don’t like violence. That by itself call for a second point in you presentation.”

“Oh, that?” John chuckled. He buried his nose in Sherlock’s hair, humming quietly. “I just need to protect you, Sherlock. I don’t know way, it’s not because you smell good – I like it more than usual, I admit, but it is not that, it’s not hormones or pheromones. It’s that I need you to be safe. I need to make you feel and be safe. I saw you, on your knees and I knew it’s not your place to be. You need people like them on their knees before you, not the other way around. Then and there I decided I’d protect you, I _knew_ I had to, because obviously no one else was bright enough to notice how brilliant and amazing and precious you are.”

“Oh…” was all Sherlock said and then he was kissing him, breathy and excited and with all that spicy, sexy smell filling John’s senses, making him blush, taking the breath out of his lungs. His arms caught Sherlock by the waist, helping him adjust and his tongue found its way in Sherlock’s mouth, eliciting sweet sounds and heated whimpers.

John broke the kiss, needing air and smiled happily. Sherlock trembled in his hands, unable to stop peppering kisses on his face, his neck, his shoulders, every little spot he managed to reach, he covered in sweet little pecks, making John tremble with excitement.

“No one ever kissed me, I never knew it’s so… such… ah!” John’s mouth covered his and Sherlock moaned and buckled closer, suppressing the spasms of his body. Soon enough he was shaking with pain and John broke away again, laying Sherlock on the bed, covering the lean body with his own, sturdy and broader one, and tried to hold him hard enough to numb the mind-scrunching pain in his gut.

“I’d kiss you a hundred times a day, if you let me,” John heard himself murmuring against Sherlock’s ribcage. He slid down to his stomach, kissing the flesh, massaging the sensitive body. He felt helpless, his ministrations did nothing to soothe Sherlock’s pain as hard as the Omega tried to act as they did. He continued squirming, drowned in searing pain.

John kneeled between Sherlock’s legs, looming over him and sighed heavily – anger filled him and it took all his self-restraint not to track Nigel down and beat him senseless.

He moved, his back against the frame of the bed, and gathered Sherlock into his lap yet again. The Omega cried out a little, then folded himself, willing his eyes closed and his lips an inch away from John’s kissable neck.

“It’s going to be alright,” the Alpha said quietly. “It’s all going to be fine.”

Sherlock smiled to himself, he knew that it wouldn’t be. That in a few hours they would come and take him away from John. He knew it all too well, but didn’t find it in himself to speak of it. It was much better like that – kept warm and safe in John’s arms with a bruise forming on the Alpha’s neck, a perfect form of Sherlock’s mouth. A perfect reminder of what it could but would never be.


	6. Chapter 6

John’s stomach flipped and turned, the nerves getting the better of him. Sherlock didn’t get better, he didn’t get worse either but the cramps continued and he only got in and out of sleep. John’s lips, lovingly kissed his hair, and his hands gently caressed Sherlock’s shoulders, wheedling him to more steady sleep but with little success.

Finally, around seven in the morning, the doorbell rang, pulling them both out of their intimate, if painful, cocoon on the bed.

John got up and out of bed, leaving Sherlock confused and barely conscious to drag himself on his knees and crawl to the edge of the bed. “Don’t go,” he said, the rich baritone worn out and raspy.

“Why? What it is?” John didn’t go for the door. He turned back, sat on the bed, gathering Sherlock’s limp body in his lap. The Omega whined and buried his face deeper in John. “Sherlock, what is it?”

“It’s for me. They’ve come for me.” The shook his head and turned up to John. The pearl smooth skin had taken a rosy gloss and his wicked lips were curling, smiling sweetly at John’s bemused expression. Sherlock didn’t wait for the doctor to answer; he didn’t give him a choice. He leaned closer and kissed him. Just like that. His lips were on John’s lips and his mouth moved shyly, causing John to whimper like a teenager. “Don’t try to shoot them, doctor,” Sherlock whispered against his mouth and slid from the bed. “I need to know you are out there somewhere.”

He limped to the door and through the hallway. By the time John could move again, he was halfway down the staircase and the Alpha barely couth up with him. He didn’t even thought about asking how did Sherlock knew of the existence of his gun. His very much illegal gun. “What do you mean?”

“I meant what I said. Please.”

“Why... how do you even know who is it?”

“The times when they pick me up after a job in specified in my contract. 7am. Now it’s seven am.”

John cursed but didn’t have time to protest. Sherlock had another seizure and crumbled on the floor, breathing hard. “Why would they come to pick you up? Just tell them you’ll go on your own. When you are ready.”

“Sorry, doctor, in my line of work by the time the clients’ done with me, I’m not in shape to get back ‘on my own’. It’s the work, you see, an escort Omega. You saw for yourself.” He clung to John, desperately trying to stay conscious. The doctor held him tight and when they finally got to the first floor, he positioned him on the kitchen table, hurriedly checking his eyes and pulse.

“You are getting worse, Sherlock.”

The man shook his head, “A few more hours and it’ll wear off.”

The door bell continued ringing and John gritted his teeth. “I don’t want you to go.”

“I need to.” Sherlock leaned down again and John kissed him, hurriedly and messy, the way he kissed goodbye. “If you want to help me, for real, look up Mycroft Holmes on the internet.”

“Are you crazy?!” John was out of his mind and Sherlock didn’t help much. How possibly could an online search be of help?

“I am serious.” Sherlock kissed his lips again and gestured for the door. “Now go invite them in and please, try not to shoot them, John. I am begging you to stay alive for me.”

 

* * *

 

 

A week later one Mycroft Holmes sat in his sitting room, hardly amused and a tad rudely refusing the offered tea.

“You searched my name on the internet,” Mycroft Holmes said with the air of a man of affairs. “Why?”

John stumbled a little, biting his lip and twitching in his chair. “Well,” he thought Sherlock was delusional at first as there was _no_ Mycroft Holmes known to the internet. And then again, here he was, wasn’t he? He even gave John a card, not that it said anything other than his name. “Someone told me to look for you there.”

“And this _someone_ was known to you by the name of…?” His tone didn’t change; his eyes only barely flickered to the smart-suited security guards, surrounding him.

“Sher-lock” John spelled with care. “His name, he said, was Sherlock.”

Mycroft stood from his chair, fast as a lightning. Both his guards were already at the door, his laptop, tablet and mobile presented to him and his scarily quiet assistant already on the phone after just a brief glance to her boss.

“What is it? Do you know him? Can you help him?”

“Hush, John Watson!” Mycroft’s hand covered his mouth as his phone came to his ear. “This is MHSevenEightZeroOne. We have information of the location of SHZero.”

“I don’t know his location!” John tried but the guards grabbed him, taking him out of the door and into an unmarked black car.

The next thing John came to was a cosy looking study with Mycroft Holmes seated on a brown-leathered armchair, hot fire in the fireplace between the two of them and glass of whiskey next to his numbed hand.

“What is your relationship with Sherlock Holmes, Captain Watson?”


	7. Chapter 7

“What is your relationship with Sherlock Holmes, Captain Watson?” Mycroft asked quietly. “And please, be frank with me. I have a short temper when related to my brother’s well-being.”

Okay, John knew the drill there. No time for talking business now. Mycroft’s face showed cold determination and cruel sharpness, no trace of his composed, unearthly persona. Not a calm façade anymore, but a man with clear idea what he was after.

“His well-being?” John laughed and gulped all of his fine rich whiskey in a single sip. “He’s an Omega being forced into prostitution, you sick bastard! What _well-being_ do you have the rights to talk of?!”

He didn’t plan to yell, it slipped out of him but he also didn’t regret it. Not until he met Mycroft’s chalk-white, terrified face and his pin-head eyes.

“My brother, Captain, was lost to me a eight months ago during an attack on our childhood home. I have all the right to talk about his well-being as I am the one who raised him and I am the one who always took care of him, no matter how unbearably hard he made it. The question here is, who gave you this right and why did he gave you my name? He sought your help that much is obvious. But where did you find him, how did you get in touch with him, when you can arrange for it to happen again? This is what I need from you. A little information…” he seemed thoughtful for a moment and the added, business as usual, “and you’ll be awarded accordingly, of course.”

John cleared his throat. “He was invited to my house by some army friends of mine. I don’t know how to reach him again but they must know. I can ask…”

“No need for that.” A tab opened on Mycroft’s tablet and a video stream showed a cordon of troops escorting the group from a week ago into a grim looking building. “We brought them too, for questioning.” He gave the tablet to John and stood up, filling their glasses once again. “You see, Sherlock Holmes in an invaluable creature…”

“I know he is.”

“You _know_?” Mycroft sounded dubious.

“I begged him not to go! I could’ve helped him.”

“I am almost forty years old, Mr. Watson, and I have yet to acquaint a man like you.”

John frowned a little, when Mycroft turned his back to him; he watched the live feed as Geoff was the first brought in for questioning. Few sentences into the conversation he flipped the table, four broad military-clad bodies latching themselves to contain him.

“You couldn’t have helped him, if that is what keeps you up at night.”

John looked up; Mycroft was behind his desk now, watching him with calculating eyes. He wasn’t that surprised by the man figuring out his sleep deprivation. Sherlock knew all kinds of things about John before they even had the chance to meet properly. Why wouldn’t his brother be similar? Creepier and colder but cuttingly smart all the same. And an Alpha.

Problem with all that was that John could’ve helped Sherlock. He had his (illegal, he reminded himself, do not mention it before him) gun, he was an excellent shot and a decent fist and knife fighter, even with the shoulder.

“I know about the gun, John,” Mycroft said, annoyed by the soldier’s dimness. “Sherlock’s captors… they are not the type of people a single gun can scare. You had no chance and my brother knew that. That’s why he gave you my name not permission to shoot. Because he knew what – and who – was out there.”

Nigel was talking now and a man whose face John couldn’t see wrote down everything with meticulous precision. There was no sound to the feed, and John was too tired to read Nigel’s lips but the hoped beyond hope that he was telling them how to get in touch with Sherlock.

The recorder left the room soon after and Smith was brought in. John didn’t pay much attention though. Because the man stepped into the study and wordlessly handed his notes to Mycroft’s assistant.

She frowned slightly, reading it. “What is it?” Mycroft asked and she handed it to him. “Oh.”

“What… where is he?”

“Well, he is in London. That _is_ a good start. Your friend found him on an escort agency website. As we speak my men are tracking the page but I’m afraid we’ll need a better crafted plan of attack than simply storming the place. The man, who controls it, he isn’t a pleasant man to confront, especially on his terms and on his terrain.”

“Yes, okay, whatever you say. I want to help.”

“This is good.” Mycroft smiled and stood from his chair. “Get credit card out then. You’ll have to book an escort tonight. I’ll transfer the money to your bank account; you’ll book an Extra Special Deal tonight – count yourself lucky.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for changing the chapters number so much. It's just that I had some new ideas and I wanted to write them in as well.  
> However, it's not much more to the end! The thing is I have no idea how many chapters is going to take to get there.

Mycroft transferred quite the sum of money. John looked at his balance, stunned out of speech and tried to think of what an escort offered that would cost this much. It wasn’t just Sherlock to offer the ESD, some of the other escorts had it listed as well but the only one available for it at the moment was Sherlock. He called the number on the website and nicely asked if he was calling the right number before proceeding with asking for the ESD offer and who was available for it at the moment. His delight was apparent even without him trying to lie his way with it.

John Watson wasn’t a good liar by nature. He preferred stating truths of different nature before lying. Like for example, he wouldn’t say – “I didn’t shot that man!”, no, because he did, but when asked he would say “It must’ve been a good shot.” So he didn’t lie on the phone either. He barely called for a prostitute and when he said he enjoyed company immensely the last time he saw him, he didn’t lie either.

“Do you know what is going to happen now?” Mycroft asked when he put the phone down, feeling sickly joyous. Knowing Sherlock would be in his arms again in just a few hours had a strange, nausea-like effect on his stomach. “You are going to wait in your house. You’ll be alone so no stupid ideas – you take him when they get him to you and you take him to the bedroom. An hour later a car will be sent to take him. You are not allowed to touch him in any way, Captain. Have that in mind!”

“Why?” It was hard not to yell. He needed the man like air and as he finally got to be close to him again, when he finally got a chance to help him and pull him back to real life, the snob of a man, Mycroft Holmes, was going to hide him and take him away. “I just need him to be safe! I won’t hurt him.”

“I know, you’ll be allowed to visit him in case he wishes so once after the week is over.”

“The week? Why wait for the whole week?”

Mycroft looked genuinely surprised. “You are extremely stupid, you know that?”

John didn’t understood what he meant before he opened the front door and found himself with a lap full of Sherlock. He was chained around the ankle, the other end on the chain the man with him gave to John, advising him of chaining Sherlock to the bed. “He’s been unbearable lately. And in his condition now more than ever.”

Then John understood why Mycroft warned him not to touch the Omega. The scent was burning and his whole body burned with Sherlock’s hot, sweat-slick skin. He was going into heat. Not that surprising, John berated himself; it was the Extra Special Deal, available on different occasions for different escorts.

Once delivered to the house, John dragged Sherlock up the stairs into the bedroom. He was plaint and barely conscious. The need to kiss him and the fear of him waking battled in John’s chest. He wanted to _talk_ to Sherlock so much but knew perfectly well that once he came to himself, the Omega wouldn’t be able to think of much else than mating and bonding and bloody fuck John shouldn’t be thinking of that. Not now.

He got a glass of water for Sherlock and looked out the window, spotting the car that delivered Sherlock was still in front of the house. Mycroft had explained that to avoid any complications they had to wait for Sherlock’s captors to ease off and then extract him from the house. In the meantime Mycroft’s minions were going to take care of his captors. John decided then and there that he didn’t want to know what kind of ‘taking care’ was planned.

He was lying on the bed next to Sherlock when the man first moved. He turned and looked at John with his great big eyes. “Hey,” he rasped out. “Oh, that’s awful.”

John helped him to get out of the chains and kissed his ankle not even thinking about it. Sherlock was looking at him and when John got back on the bed, he shifted closer and curled himself around the soldier.

“Your brother is going to be here soon,” John said and immediately regretted it. The first thing he wanted to say to Sherlock was something in the lines of ‘don’t go’, ‘let me be yours’, ‘I want you’ but no, it was ‘your brother is going to be here soon’. Oh, John Watson isn’t you a class act idiot! “I mean, I missed you like hell and I am so happy that you are safe now but you are going to be with your family soon! And everything will go back to normal.”

“Would you like to come with me?” Sherlock asked rather bluntly.

John laughed a little. “I didn’t expect you to ask that, but yes, I’d love to.”

“You don’t have to.” Sherlock looked at him from under his lashes and John let out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding. There was no sane man or woman out there who wouldn’t want to go wherever this celestial creature wanted them to go.

So he cleared his throat and explained himself more clearly, “I haven’t expected it, but I hoped like crazy.” He leaned down and kisses Sherlock’s forehead delicately. “Rest now; you have a ruff week ahead of you.”

“ _We_ have,” Sherlock corrected him. “We have a perfect week ahead of us, John. And please, let Mycroft fight his battles with Wilkes and co. I lost enough already to let _you_ go fight Mycroft’s fights.”


	9. Chapter 9

John hummed a little and snuggled closer to Sherlock. “Are you sure it is not the heat talking?”

“I don’t go into heat for another day, John. My mind is clear.”

“But your skin…” John leaned closer and kissed his shoulder, tangible heat warming his chaffed mouth.

“My skin’s hot because they drug us every time before the heat comes. It helps with regulating it when they sell it.”

“You are drugged, your mind is decidedly not clear!” the soldier stood his ground and Sherlock smiled a little, burrowing his face into his shoulder and kissing the snug jumper hard enough for John to feel the movement.

“Will you spend the heat with me or not?”

“I… want to.” Who was he fooling, he was already hard just because Sherlock was laid in his arms and they exchanged some vast, chaste kisses not even close to each other’s mouths. “But I’m afraid it’s not really right for me to. You don’t know me, you know I am injured but have you got any idea how ugly I am underneath the clothes? No. Have you got an idea what it is to be woken in the middle of the night with screams and a violent ex-army trashing on the bed? No. You don’t need me. You have no way of knowing what are you signing up for and it isn’t fair to you.”

“Yes, because bonding with an Omega that has been an escort for the past half a year is such a deal to die for. Please, John, I have nightmares too, I have scars too. I keep body parts in the freezer and play the violin at impossible hours. I talk too much and then don’t talk for days on end. I am unconventional, annoying and impossibly smart, so smart that I know I have to have you. That is if you please of course.”

John smiled at him, leaned down and kissed him. Delicately, painfully slow, his tongue caressing Sherlock’s lips and divesting him of any power or control. Their mouths worked perfectly together, lips and tongues and teeth. Sherlock kissed with enthusiasm, having never been kissed on the mouth before John and the army-man bit and sucked on his tongue, forgetful of every creature and every matter that was not two of them.

Sherlock hummed, little sexy noises escaping his throat. In a fluent move John flipped them over, settling between Sherlock’s legs. Sherlock’s knees pressing his sides and his long legs wrapped around John.

When his heels firstly touched the behind of John’s hips, the Alpha managed to hold the instinct need to trust forward.

Then Sherlock reached out, his hands caressing John’s back and slowly ascending to his backside and the doctor buckled. He couldn’t hold his body anymore as short sharp nails dragged over his back; Sherlock’s rasp breath rushing in his ears.

His movement sent Sherlock up the bed and brushed their erections in a perfect way. Sherlock wined a little and threw his head back.

“We should wait,” he breathed heavily. “We should use the time before the heat comes to settle everything and think of things. Like… like are you going to take a pill or am I. And also where, and food and water… ah, do that again, just like that…” he moaned loudly as John slid against his groin again and the Alpha smiled, predatory eyes drinking Sherlock’s writhing body.

“I’ll take the pills. You’ve been through enough already.”

“Mmm, good, yes-s-s” Sherlock threw his head back. His legs clenched around John’s middle, his hands lazily scraping his shoulders and scapulas.

The soldier hummed in pleasure against his skin. Somewhere along the way Sherlock t-shirt was pushed up and his broad stomach exposed and left to John’s mercy. He kissed him, murmuring, “Just a kiss more, I promise” when Sherlock buckled underneath him, saying loud “Ah, John! John!”

But it was already late. Mycroft’s indiscreet cough sounded in the bedroom. John stopped with his mouth open just under Sherlock’s ribs, his tongue lavishing the tender pink flesh. He moved back from Sherlock, trembling a little with his blood boiling and his mind racing.

“I was clear, Captain, that you are to _not_ touch my brother. Not the other way around.”

“Mycroft!” screeched the younger Holmes. His voice fell though to the sound of John’s ragged “Sorry. Sorry.” Hitched breathing betrayed the sound of his apologies.

“You certainly will be.” Mycroft pointed as he stepped closer to the bed. “Brother…”

Sherlock hissed, shying away underneath John Watson’s broad chest. His legs didn’t circle the man anymore but his hands were clenched in his jumper and his face buried in John’s neck.

Mycroft only frowned a little. “Human error” he said sharply and turned his back. He then looked to the door, seizing it with his calculation dark eyes and without a second glance at the couple on the bed, called for his men.

“Remove the Alpha. Sherlock needs to go home now.”


	10. Chapter 10

John Watson hated being forced into things. Mycroft’s guards didn’t need to fling him out of the bed. They needn’t have taken Sherlock away from him _forcefully_. He was reading himself to give the Omega up, the thing was it was taking him some up. And they made it ever harder, dragging Sherlock on the floor. All John’s Alpha senses burned up. Sherlock screamed and kicked, trying to free himself from the guards.

John couldn’t move. They had him pinned face down on the floor. His hands held Sherlock until he couldn’t reach him anymore and he itched for contact more than ever. His gut curled in a tight ball and tightened every time Sherlock screamed and buckled, reaching for him much like an Omega stranded from their Alpha.

Possessiveness overcame his mind, an angry growl filled his throat as another man caught the young Holmes from the back and lifted him up, half-carrying, half-dragging him out of the house.

“It’s pointless, Captain,” Mycroft was saying somewhere close. In his ringing ears it sounded from far, far away. And he wished for Holmes to be far away, as far as possible, where he couldn’t touch Sherlock anymore. “He needs to go home,” he was whispering directly his ear now.

The slimy git was right – Sherlock needed to go home. He needed an Alpha more of course, especially now, but seeing Mycroft’s resources John doubted there wasn’t already a line of suitable candidates queuing – like good, presentable Englishmen – somewhere near where rat like John Watson had no place.

“Have you even thought about how are you going to take care of a creature like him? Hm. On an army pension and a locum job, you have no chance on meeting his needs. You barely manage yourself, Captain. What do you need an Omega for? Except the obvious, of course.”

John cursed and rubbed his face against the hard floor boards. He kicked and flipped, taking all of Mycroft’s men on the floor, flinging fists and kicks and biting someone so hard he bled in his mouth and he couldn’t stop himself before he sent them all out cold.

He sneered at Mycroft on his way out, stopping next to him by the door. “What he _needs_ is love and adoration.”

John was to the car in a second and this time no one tried to stop him. He was in through the door and locking it behind.

He found Sherlock curled in a ball on the seat and the man only fidgeted and whined quietly when the seat dipped beside him. His shivering and trembling only multiplied John’s rage. He reached for the younger man, dragged him on the floor and enveloped him in his body before either on them could say anything, before My-fucking-croft could drag his lazy ass here and order John killed, or worse, removed.

Sherlock clung to him, his quiet sobs audibly ringing in the small space.

“Don’t,” Sherlock whispered, desperation dripping on his tongue. The Heat was approaching, slowly but tangibly. His emotional answer enhanced, his mind ragged and broke to pieces.

John didn’t know what to say. He knew he wasn’t going to be with Sherlock much longer. There was no world in which they were going to let him spend the Heat with him. But after that… he was going to wait, no matter how long, he was.

He hadn’t acknowledged the silence that settled before the screech of the door opening.

“Have you had an emotion breakdown or are you completely mental?” Mycroft hissed angrily, climbing into the car. “Acting like bonded mates. You two are pitiful.”

John growled. “I can beat you senseless too, if you wish, Mycroft Holmes.”

Unimpressed with the treat, Mycroft knocked on the partition for the driver and the car slowly moved, slipping onto London’s busy roads.

“I am not letting you close to my brother during that Heat, Watson. Have that in mind when the car stops. He is emotionally compromised. He’s been taken advantage of enough lately.”

“Yes. Okay.” The doctor agreed, and how else. “But I want to wait for after the Heat. To take care of him. When… _if_ the other Alpha…”

“There’s no other Alpha,” steadfastly Mycroft’s hard voice broke his speech. “No…” he cleared his throat ill at ease. “No Alpha shall touch Sherlock before he is alright and all back to himself. No Alpha, including yourself.”

“Yes. Yes. I… okay, it’s fine, as long as he is fine.”

“He will be. My assistant shall provide with… appliances for him to use in order to get through the Heat. Admittedly, he will endure some pain but not as much as the pain if he is forced to mate – or god forbid, bond – with some lesser creature he’ll hate the moment his is fully himself again.” He looked pointedly at John. It took the soldier a moment before he realized that he was that figurative ‘lesser creature’ Mycroft spoke of. “It is good for you, Captain, to remember that he isn’t yours. That he may never be. You act as his Alpha but you are not. And I’d hate to have to kill you. Especially after you helped me get him back home.”

John laughed and shook his head. “You are unbelievable.”

“He is worse.”

“He is brilliant.”

Mycroft sneered. “His body is brilliant to you. I speak of his mind.”

Silence settled for a moment. John spoke of his mind as well, but what was the point in stating that. Mycroft wasn’t about to believe him. He moved a little and Sherlock fell into his lap. A quiet ‘oh’ was all John could muster. He settled the man better and held him tight. He hasn’t even realized Sherlock was asleep.

When he looked up, Mycroft was smirking. “He’s asleep. Has been since the car started. But you haven’t noticed.”

“No. I haven’t.”

“Did he deduce you when you first met?” he asked sounding genuinely curious. “Told you things about you he had no way of knowing.”

“He did.”

“And? What did you say?”

It was John’s turn to smirk. Before answering he leaned down, kissing Sherlock’s temple.

“I told him he was brilliant.”

For once, Mycroft Holmes had nothing to say to that.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is really short but it stood well on his own, so here it is. Sexy times ahead (sometime in the next chapters) and also, I am wondering if I should give Sebastian some 'screen' time. Just for the sake of Sherlock getting the chance to hit him on the face.

The air smelled lovely at night. You could smell the oncoming storm. It’s bitter taste lingering on your tongue; exotic, wild notes filling the night air, clinging to the bedding wet with sweat and to the soldiers body, trashing lightly, gagging with the sweet scent, plugged at his nose.

It was awful, this arrangement. The whole Holmes estate reeked of Sherlock’s Heat. The scenting crept into every inch of the house – every corridor and every room. Nights were too hot and heavy to sleep behind closed doors and the scent too strong once the terrace was opened.

John crawled the walls, getting worked up and jumpy every time the door was opened and maiden’s voices called him to the dining room. He wanked more than he has ever had in his life, closing his eyes shut, calling Sherlock to his mind – his lovely hands and that gorgeous mouth.

Being next to him. On top of him and moving; slow and steady, fucking him into the mattress.

Between his legs and Sherlock’s shins wrapped around him. Holding him and kissing every inch of his lithe delicate body.

Thrusting into him, fucking him into the mattress. With Sherlock screaming his name and “John! Oh God, John! Jo-o-oh-ohn.”

He steered, jumping into the bed. His hand under the covers moved up and out and he got out of the bed and on the terrace. Above. He smelled him before he heard him and then the velvet deep voice again.

“John! Oh!”

Smiling a little he moved to the edge of the terrace and looked up. The doors to Sherlock’s bedroom were closed and probably locked (it was only logical) but he could still smell him all the time.

Mycroft said it was unbelievably stupid but after observing – and rather embarrassing – John and his natural reaction’s to Sherlock’s Heat, he concluded that yes, they have both started a bonding process. Just not the regular bonding process, but a rare, stronger one. Soul mates, he said and for some reason, John felt giddy and extremely proud of himself. He has scored a brilliant creature like Sherlock Holmes for a soul mate after all, he had the right to be happy for himself.

No matter, they didn’t allow him even on the same floor as Sherlock. Not only that, but the day the older Holmes made his conclusion, acting and looking fairly disgruntled by it, the security unit doubled and at nights it tripled, no doubt ready to take him out the moment he dares as so much make a step towards Sherlock’s room.

“You have remarkable self-control,” Mycroft said one day, almost a week after the Heat started. “We had to… take care of half a dozen Alphas from the suburbs just in the first few days.”

“Dare I ask what their number is as of lately? If they were half a dozen on the first days, one can only imagine what it was when the Heat hit in full.”

“None actually. By the third day the signs of your ‘soul bonding’ started showing in his scent. He is appealing for others still, but the scent will be strongest for you. Especially once you bond properly.”

John smiled a little but didn’t say anything. The room upstairs was quiet today, unusually so and he lied in his bed all day, listening to Sherlock’s silence. It was beautiful, really. His silence as everything else his, it was purely beautiful.


	12. Chapter 12

“What are these?”

John looked up from his book with surprise. “Sherlock, you are up?”

“What are they?”

“My reading glasses.” He didn’t want to talk about reading glasses now. For God’s sake!

Sherlock was out of bed, looking quite refreshed and _alive_. He was a different man than the Sherlock John had the misfortune to know.

He was standing tall and proud, dressed impeccably with his wild curls tamed after what seemed a fresh shower. The clothes were an idea too big for him and John hated – he utterly hated the knowledge why was that. But he tried his very best to stay calm, to keep his mind on the present and to the only thing that mattered now: Sherlock recovering and feeling safe and protected, and free to start making small steps towards his normal life.

Of course, ‘normal’ life was a far cry for him now. Coming down from the Heat must’ve left him exhausted and emotionally exposed. John felt nervous and gathering what he knew of the man, he was absolutely sure Sherlock wouldn’t work with a therapist and John’s knowledge of working with PTSD patients wasn’t that big so he wouldn’t suffice as replacement either.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, feeling somewhat stupid. He was an Omega coming out of a Heat spent alone. A Heat before which he was drugged and probably beaten. He was home after almost a year in captivity. A year in forced prostitution, humiliation, constant assault and God only knows what else. And here was John Watson asking how he was.

Sherlock frowned at the empty room. He stood next to John’s armchair, hands in his pockets, his fingers fidgeting under the soft fabric. “Yes, fine,” he sounded stiff and John stood from his chair, offering it to him.

“It’s warm,” turned out to be a way into coaxing Sherlock Holmes to sit. Watching him take the chair, John kneeled and sat close to him, enough for the younger man to reach for him if he wanted.

They fell silent. And John felt content sitting there on the floor. He moved a little, folding his short legs under him and opened the book again. Sherlock stood on the chair, his body limp but his eyes alert and searching for the source of every little sound.

Some time passed, a cat broke a flowerpot in the garden causing Sherlock to sit up, distress coloring his face. John looked outside – the cat was marching on the window sill with proud little movements. He hissed at it, loud and sharply and the animal jumped, curling its tail and jumped back into the grass.

Sherlock smiled and John moved a little closer. He weaved a tentative hand into the short blonde hair, massaging, holding tight onto the locks, almost painfully so. John hummed a little, his neck relaxing and his head leaning back under the soft pressure.

“Thank you.” Sherlock offered at last. “I never said it before and I should have.”

“No, you shouldn’t. I had to do it. There wasn’t other way possible for my life to continue. Not knowing that you are safe and protected and being properly handled.”

Two celestial eyes smiled at him. “Did you work on that the whole week or did you just come up with it?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I may or may not have a whole notebook of sickeningly romantic things I want to say to you. Who knows?”

“I hope you do” Sherlock may have murmured but John didn’t hear much because one Mycroft Holmes decided to barge in this moment. The clattering of his guard’s boots filling the room. He looked around the chair to see the man approaching.

Before he was too close, John reached and took Sherlock’s hand, holding tight. His thumb brushed the rosy knuckles ones and then Mycroft was sitting on the armchair opposite, looking worn out for the world.

“Have you been staying up late, brother dear?” Sherlock asked smugly.

“I… yes.” He seized them, jerking his head for one of the guards to bring John a stool. “I’ve been thinking about your recovery. Anthea found some remarkable clinics, the medics there have the most astonishing of recommendations and the environment would suffice you well. It’s secluded and not _too_ quiet and…”

“No.”

“No?” Mycroft looked pleadingly at John. The soldier shook his head. “You didn’t even let me finish. It will be nice and you can recover there. On your own.”

“I’ve been on my own for the past year, Mycroft. The very last thing I wish now is to be _alone_.”

The chair creaked when he stood up. His hand felt from John’s abruptly, leaving the soldier feeling cold and empty.

“I prefer to be on my own,” he was passing in long strides between the two of them. “But not alone.”

Mycroft looked lost.

“Do you have something in mind?” The guilt took him where he couldn’t deny Sherlock anything. John realized it with a start, trying to figure the strange vulnerability on the older Holmes’s side. He didn’t act that nice at all, not usually, but Sherlock was his little brother and more than all, Mycroft wanted him to be whole again.

“Yes, I do. I’ll make some calls later. When I know for sure, I shall inform you.”

The man gaped at him. “Well, thank you,” he fumbled with the words.

“John will be coming with me. Wherever I may be, he’ll be joining me.” In the silence, he turned to John and looked at him. Really looked at him for the first time ever; he looked at him with his big pleading eyes and an air of hopelessness. “You will, right?”

“Oh God, yes! Everywhere, wherever. Just say it and I’m ready.”


	13. Chapter 13

221B Baker Street seemed to John like the perfect place for Sherlock.

It was normal looking building, the inside old and dusty. Every piece of furniture belonged to a different time and fashion, the total mess of furnace setting nice homelike feeling in the rooms.

The sitting room looked over the busy street, the bedrooms facing back and away from the big din. However, you could still hear faint the faint noise of cars passing and late night cockneys strolling the streets.

The street lamps cast pale light over the sitting room at night. The house quiet, the streets barely hissing, no birds, no cars, no people outside. Someone shouts somewhere far away, drunk on their problems or addiction.

This is John’s favorite part of life.

At night Sherlock takes his violin out and plays. The way he handles the instrument – its curves and edges caressed gently, the long neck held firmly, the strings singing under his delicate movements.

He plays something new tonight. Is playing it for the last couple nights actually and it’s amazing. When John came down the stairs, coming out of the shadows, he stopped and looked up. “Did I wake you?”

“Don’t play stupid, genius,” John smiled. He sat in his chair, getting comfortable to listen more. “We both know I listen every night and when I am too tired to stay up…”

“You love falling asleep with the violin” Sherlock finished for him.

“Yes.”

He hummed. “I like that. Do you want me to come to your room and play for you?”

“No. Play for me here and when you are finished, we’ll have some whiskey and watch the morning news. Maybe someone robbed a bank or went bonkers and killed a bunch of poor sods, and you’ll have something to think of the whole day.”

Sherlock was silent. He placed the violin gently in its case, stepped on his armchair and sat on the back, balancing like a circus act. “Is that some cheesy plan to make me watch the sunrise with you again?” he asked, dubious and not at all kidding.

“No.” John was fast to answer. He didn’t need another morning like that, thank you very much. Sherlock, sulking and growling, mimicking a giant knot, bound extremely tight around John’s body. “And no emailing NSY this time, okay? When you figure it out, you can come and tell me.”

“But…”

“I’ll tip them Sherlock. Don’t terrorize them this time. Please.”

The younger man sulked and turned his head. John stood and came closer, standing beside him and Sherlock soundlessly leaned against his chest, humming in contentment.

“I’d like it if you kissed me today,” he said. Quiet and almost fearful of John’s reaction.

The Alpha signed. “We talked about this. You tell me when you really want me to touch you – not matter how small a touch, you tell me. More importantly though, you don’t rush it. Okay? I am not going anywhere. You own idiot of a brother told you – we have a soul bond, the strongest bond we could ever have.”

“It isn’t that strong before the mating process is finished.”

“And _it_ won’t be finished before you recover. And you haven’t recovered yet; it’s been only two months, love.” John kissed his head, and then his temple and nose and faintly touched his lips to Sherlock’s. He held his head with hands, their eyes meeting, their faces so close they breathed each other’s air.

Sherlock fell quiet.

He deemed their arrangement inconvenient and still sulked over that from time to time. But it was in his lack of passion to change it where John knew it was the right thing to do.

They took the two bedrooms at John’s insistence. He wanted to give Sherlock some space and he tried his best, even when the mad man sulked greatly and didn’t talk to him for days. That was his strategy only for the first few days though. After that Sherlock opted for more aggressive approach, regularly flinging himself into John’s bed, unconcerned if the Alpha was already into bed or sleeping. John held him every time, falling asleep with the sweet scent of his own Omega, drowning him delicately.

This said Sherlock didn’t do much to recover. Whatever he needed to do, he did in his Mind Palace or alone in his bedroom behind closed (always unlocked, John was insistent) doors. John did have some part, Sherlock told him as much, but the man didn’t need him to do anything other than keep quiet and stay around. Both things John did happily for Sherlock and thanks to that, he even managed to catch up on the week, missed into the Heat.

There was progress too. Sherlock’s nightmares lessened. He wasn’t as jumpy anymore and managed going out much better. John told and showed him how proud of him he was in every convenient moment and Sherlock was positive and optimistic about it.

“Tea?” because John seemed to think tea was the answer to everything, he offered while Sherlock turned the TV on and threw some blankets on the sofa where they watched.

Trying to help, John discovered this interest in him against crime and investigation. They turned it into tradition: watching the news, buying detective documentaries, finding unsolved crimes in the newspaper. Sherlock solved every case to with there was a proper detail and he was extremely good at it, what with his genius mind and eyes, catching even the smallest details.

“What’s on?”

“It’s some criminal drama.” Sherlock shouted from the sitting room. “Oh, it’s tedious! John, come here, I am not watching this idiocy without you.”

John smiled to himself. “You’ll never have to.”

 

It was later in the day, when his phone chirmed and Sherlock growled from somewhere under the covers on the coach. John got up, untangling himself from the blankets and Sherlock, and went to search for the phone.

_We got someone you’d want to ‘meet’. MH_

_Is it Wilkes?_

_It is. MH_

_No Sherlock. Come alone. MH_


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! It just ran out on me. I don't know why, I couldn't write a single word. I had most of the chapter ready and just finished some things. I guess I got too stuck up with reading metas :D

He didn’t know what to do. Not with Sherlock clinging to him on the porch, trying all his ways to make him stay. He reassured him a million time – he was coming back in a couple of hours. He just wanted to see. To know who was the man that broke Sherlock so much. He didn’t know why he needed to see him, to know his face, but he wanted that and seeing it in his face, Sherlock stepped back, bowed his head to kiss the soldier – because John did soldier up for this – and let him go.

So now John stood in the back room in some dark building, thinking what the hell he was doing here.

Sebastian Wilkes was slim unpleasant man with the face of a scared mouse and the arrogance of annoyed lion. John hated him the moment he saw him and hearing the way Wilkes talked about the ways he fucked Sherlock, about the ways he made him suffer didn’t really ended well.

It ended at least, even with Wilkes almost dead and John’s fists and face and shirt and jacket bloody. Mycroft sent half a dozen guards to escort him to Baker Street but didn’t say a thing. For all John saw, he was faintly smiling.

When he got home he didn’t remember much of what had happened. It was a blur and thank god Sherlock didn’t ask. He quietly offered some tea and took John to bed after the doctor cleaned up and showered, silently drinking his tea, snuggled with Sherlock on his lap.

“Sorry I didn’t help you clean up,” the man said quietly.

“You are not touching any of this little shit’s blood.” John gritted his teeth, pulling the man closer, all very alpha and territorial. “I am sorry I acted without asking you first. I honestly don’t remember the exact moment I decided to step into the room and hit him.”

Sherlock chuckled darkly. He was silent for a few moment before he stated again.

“He never touched me.” Sherlock turned his head and positions his chin of John’s stomach. “I am, for what is worth it, a virgin.” He said the word with annoyance.

“You are?” Surprised (and ashamed of how pleased he was by the fact), John held him tighter.

“No one was allowed more that my mouth and hands. I was an Omega escort, John. You know perfectly well how much my Heat coast. It is that high for a good reason.”

“I didn’t know. I thought you were the reason. You are frankly amazing.”

“You didn’t read the site, did you? My idiot of a brother did.”

“Well, yes.”

They then fell quiet and not long after, Sherlock was asleep, strangely enough, and John didn’t want to sleep, and it wasn’t that he wasn’t exhausted. He needed the time, the peaceful few hours with Sherlock asleep in his arms.

“John?” It was early, far too early to be woken up but it was Sherlock and he sounded distressed. It was against John’s nature not to wake the moment his mind registered the fearful notes in Sherlock’s voice. “John?”

He yawned and pushed up to sit on the bed. He automatically reached for the Omega, the younger man straddling him and wrapping himself around his soldier’s sturdy, strong body.

“What is it?” John asked after a while. Sherlock only shifted a little but didn’t say anything. “What is it, Sherlock? Did you have a nightmare?”

“No,” he mumbled. “I…” he cleared his throat and looked everywhere but at John. Which was awfully awkward as Sherlock was actually straddling him.

“What?” John kissed his clavicle and then kissed a little on his neck and under his chin, gently caressing the milky skin with his lips until Sherlock started to fidget.

“You touched him more than you have ever touched me” he said quietly and he looked away. “And he touched me more than you ever have.” He coughed lightly, turning red. “Oh my god, I want you to have sex with me. Please.”

“Sex? Are you crazy?” He scooted closer but Sherlock looked at him and John stopped in his pace, looking at him – really looking. Gulping all his concerns and gathering his courage, he then added stonily. What kind of sex are we talking about?”

“I don’t know. It just that…” he breathed deep in and out a few times. “I keep remembering _them_ all the time and I want something… someone else instead. I am ready; it’s been a few months and you _touched him_ and I can’t and their hand are crawling, John. They are crawling under my skin and your hands on him and…”

He turned away, breathing hard. He was chewing his bottom lip, his eyes nervous and his whole demeanor somehow different, broken, impossibly wrong.

“Hey! Hey!” John pulled him close and hugged him tight. “Sex can’t heal you, love” he murmured very quiet.

“It is not about healing. It’s about having only _their_ hands to think of, having only the memories of these men and women to flood my head all the time. And I tried to delete it, I tried but I can’t fully. I need you. Please.” He looked pleading. “It won’t heal me. It will help forgetting what their hands and tongues and mouths and bodies felt like. I’ll have _you_ to think of and I will be fine.”

“Okay…” John said hesitantly. “But if something I do distresses you, you tell me. You tell me to stop.”

“Yes, of course.”

He leaned to kiss him but John was hesitant still. He wrapped his hands around Sherlock’s waist, tugging him closer. “Are you sure, Sherlock? Please, think well about this.”

“I am thinking about it and how to talk to you about it for the past 16 days. And then you touch _him_ and I can’t. He won’t be the last thing you touch. He won’t get more of you than I do. I am sure. I am ready to try it.”

John gulped.

“How many times have you been… forced into… this?”

“John…”

“I need to know.”

“It was more of… bringing them to pleasure. No one has ever actually been inside of me, I told you. Only in my mouth but…”

“Are you lying to me?”

“No!” Sherlock snapped. “What do you want me to say? They fucked me in the mouth and they made me fuck them _with_ my mouth. They used my hands often, the female one’s, they were much more than the males. The women just loved my hands, my mouth. They didn’t want _me_ , some Omega, inside them. They touched me, awfully much. And I hated it.”

“And you want me – you are ready to let me – erase the memory of their touch on your skin.”

“Yes. Because I love you and I think I’ll love you touching me.”

“Did Wilkes ever force himself on you?”

“What?”

“You heard me. Tell me this, and I’ll do whatever you want me to do.”

“Even participate in experiments?” Sherlock sounded dubious. John only nodded, his face turned to steel. “He tried.”

John heard that much. Wilkes talked in length about it all. How, when, why. The ways Sherlock fought the helplessness. The punishments after. “What happened?”

“A client called and requested me. He never got the time after that.” So. A lie.

“Don’t lie to me” John gritted. Sherlock fidgeted a little.

“I bit him.”

“I know” the soldier raved Sherlock’s hair with his hands. “And thank god.” he murmured, leaning closer for a kiss on Sherlock’s temple. “Now. What it is that you want? And be careful. Move slow. We have all the time in the world, love. Please, don’t push yourself too hard.”

Sherlock nodded in understanding and pulled John’s shirt over his head. Removing his own, he revealed the doctor’s dog tags on his chest and John smiled, extremely pleased with the sight before his eyes. “This is hot,” he said, his voice steady and his eyes dark and heavy. “Although I don’t even want to know where did you find these. They are still extremely hot on you – marking you. Mine.” He bit Sherlock’s shoulder lightly and pulled away. He was used to kissing and touching him through clothes, nothing more, and nothing like now.

“Like you reading glasses,” Sherlock added. “Someday I’ll ravish you while you are wearing them.”

“I don’t mind.”

Sherlock chuckled – and it was easy again; slow but easy. “Have you ever?”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To anyone who read, I am sorry for the delay.  
> Here is the final chapter and tomorrow I'll post a bonus scene that I written out of nowhere before I even wrote this chapter.  
> I hope you like it!

It really wasn’t an easy one for him – this bond thing. Sherlock was way too beautiful and perfect and John needed to mark him in the ugliest, most painful way possible. He was his soul mate already and it wasn’t enough. They’ve been in it together for a year now, no proper bond applied and John’s Alpha nature started being restless. It made him more possessive, sensibly more aggressive either, especially if someone, anyone, stayed too closely to Sherlock or touched him or looked at him or whatever – he hated it.

He didn’t want them near _his_ Omega. No way would that ever happen. And Sherlock was quiet, all the time, he didn’t say anything. He followed John whenever he stormed out and stood by his side whenever he beat suspects of the NSY who stood too close to Sherlock or dared attack him in front of John. So amid all the quiet resentment he must’ve felt, Sherlock sat on sofa one day after John tried to punch DI Lestrade because he dared to put a hand on the detective’s shoulder and asked him “Would you like to make that mark already and stop with the insanity?”

“It’s been only a year” John said way too fast. He wanted the mark but more than that he wanted Sherlock to be safe and loved and cherished and forcing him into a bond wasn’t even crossing the Alpha’s mind. Sherlock smirked, knowing all that far too well.

“We’ve had plenty of ordinary sex. It’s time we stepped our game a little.”

“Well, this wouldn’t be like that. It will be longer, stronger, faster, and much more… intense.”

“Are you trying to seduce me with your little speech? Because if you are trying to scare me off you are on the wrong foot there. I would like nothing more than longer, faster, and stronger with you. Let us be clear on that one.”

John gulped, a soft color touching his cheeks. It wasn’t that he was shy or coy or whatever. It was Sherlock, all Sherlock and his damn dirty, sexy voice.

“Are you sure? It will be painful and it’ll bleed for a while.”

“Yes, I am sure. I’m sick of all those Omegas always eyeing you up and trying to rub on you and all those future Heat invites. They quite turn my stomach, you know. Idiots, aren’t they?”

“This is not a legitimate reason to bond, love. Neither is me wanting it. You should be sure of it – we are not bonding just because you are annoyed with my hormones.”

“Well, I fully intend to spend my life with you. You are already my soul mate. We have talked about bonding before and established that we will, in fact, bond one day whenever I was ready and I’ve been for some time, I just wanted to see if it is the right time for you.”

“You never said anything about it.”

“Yes, I needed the time to… think about what it would mean. And now I am saying something about it.” He blinked and John put his face in his hands. He was splitting in two: the need to bond _now_ and the thought that this was Sherlock and Sherlock wasn’t always rational. “What is it?” Sherlock asked last and John finally looked up at him.

“Is it the right thing to do?”

“I believe so.” Sherlock leaned to kiss him lightly and smiled against his eyes. “Just give me a week to finish the case. We’ll have time to prepare, to think it through. Also, we’ll have caught a serial killer and that’s always a good thing.” He kissed his eyes again. “A week and then, I am yours.”

“Oh, that’s so romantic, love,” joked John. His hand caught Sherlock’s shirt lapels, pulled him close and kissed him on the mouth. “Talk dirty case trivia.”

Sherlock hummed and as John got down on his knees, pushing the detective backwards to the sofa, his rumbling voice started, filling the room with naughty little moans and throaty breaths as John worked him with his mouth, listening about the case.

After a week, Sherlock locked down the apartment and John stocked it and Ms. Hudson happily went to her sister’s, playing dumb with them when they explained her needed departure with some very dangerous, very unsafe for little old ladies experiment. Then John locked the front door and got up the seventeen stairs, locked the apartment’s door and leaned against it.

Sherlock was slouched on the sofa in his dressing gown and John knew for fact that he wasn’t wearing anything underneath it. He hummed happily to himself and pulled his jumper and shirt over his head. His belt and shoes followed and when he got to Sherlock, he was wearing only his jeans, which the detective undid and pulled down with a disdainful look on his face. Having them around John’s ankles, he kissed his stomach and leaned back on the sofa.

“Let’s go in the bedroom” John said eagerly, freeing his legs out of the jeans.

“Easy there, Mr. Romance.”

Sherlock looked at him, his calculating, painfully intimate gaze present and making John twitch with anticipation.

“Sit,” Sherlock said finally. And John sat down on his chair.

“Did you change your mind?”

“No. I just…” he breathed and looked at John again. “I don’t want you to bite my neck. I want you to bite me on the side, here.” He touched the side of his ribcage and John nodded. “Don’t ask why. I won’t tell you. Not now at least. Some other time maybe.”

John wanted to ask at least a dozen questions but he bit his lip. Instead of asking, he nodded, scooting closer to Sherlock, kneeling on the floor next to him. He laid his head on Sherlock’s abdomen and the Omega stroked his head soothingly.

“Tell me one thing” said John at last.

Sherlock only hummed and moved minutely underneath him.

“Is it about the time you were away?” They both knew what was John referring to and he wanted to be clear but there was no way he decided to bring up Wilkes in their special night.

“No. It’s about us.” His answer seemed to fit John’s mind because the doctor lifted his hand and leaned to kiss him, deep, languid and hot.

“Bedroom, love? I’d like to have you now…” he stopped and shook his head. “Sorry, sorry about that. Whenever you are ready. I didn’t mean to sound creepy, is just that I…”

Sherlock chuckled darkly. “Yes, me too.” He winked and stood, taking John’s hand.


	16. Chapter 16

BONUS

John sunk his teeth in the delicate skin. Sherlock moaned, loudly. His body arched, hand grasping John’s hair. Milky white skin bloomed, pink and then red and it finally broke, blood flooding John’s mouth. The Alpha jerked, rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand, the other hand covering the bite. Sherlock was panting, bent in two.

John grabbed for him, hugging him from behind and pulled him on the bed, both of them laying on their sides, dizzy and drunk on their natural reaction to the bite. Soon their energy would be back and the need for the other stronger than ever.

“I feel it,” Sherlock murmured and turned his head a little. “I feel it on my skin.”

“It’s amazing, actually” John agreed. His eyes couldn’t move away from the bloody bite, the Alpha in him proud and possessive, and the doctor in him worried and nervous about biting the man he craved and loved so much to a bloody mess. “Will you tell me now? Why did you want in here, on the side, and not on your neck?”

Sherlock chuckled, turning to face the Alpha. “I don’t what anyone to see it, to be able to touch it.”

“No one would dare touch it, love,” said John softly. “It’s a bond mark, one must be…”

“If we continue doing cases for NSY, we way encounter some dangerous people. We already have.”

“Yes, we have.” John kissed his forehead.

“A bond is a weakness they see. Not only that, it’s personal, it’s intimate. And I want to be able to see it with my own eyes. Not on a photo, not on a mirror, with my _own eyes_.”

The doctor licked his lips, moving closer. Wrapping his hand around Sherlock’s waist, he leaned and murmured against his lips, “You make that sound incredibly sexy, you know.”

“I know.”

John laughed, “I love you.”

“I love you.” Sherlock murmured against his skin and kissed his biceps lightly. “I love love love you, you know that, bright and clear. I love you.”

“Yes.” John kissed back and pulled him closer. “It’s crazy good saying it. I love you.”

Sherlock chuckled. And the doctor followed. That was life now, dramatic and sexy and occasionally cheesy and dangerous and Sherlock and John. And it was good. It was all good.


End file.
